


And By Virtue Fall

by AuntieClimactic



Category: Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieClimactic/pseuds/AuntieClimactic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two defining moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And By Virtue Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from my LiveJournal. Written back when I had a massive crush on Jack Davenport.

_Tom races up the steps, taking them two at a time. He can hear piano notes drifting through the closed door and down the hall. They stumble and begin again. It must be a new piece._

_Reaching the door, Tom knocks with ingrained politeness. Inside, the notes continue for three beats before tinkling off and replaced by the muffled sounds of footsteps moments later._

_Peter opens the door dressed in his usual plain jeans and a black sweater._

_“Tom?” He asks, both curious and pleased._

 

“Tom?” The question is choked from lack of air, “Tom!”

 

The muscles in Tom’s arms tighten and pull. He’s weeping and shouting at the same time, but he isn’t aware of the words that escape his throat; he’s completely focused on keeping the body beneath his own pinned to the mattress.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

_Instead of explaining, Tom stumbles forward and wraps his arms around Peter’s waist. Peter’s hands automatically move to rest on his shoulders, steadying him. Tom leans into his warmth; he’s never had this, never had someone whose first reaction is to comfort, to hold him closer. Never had someone who he didn’t have to try to make love him. Didn’t have to pretend with._

_“Tom?” Peter asks in a half-laugh. Tom buries his face in Peter’s neck, breathing Peter in: his scent, his pulse, the vibrations in his throat when he speaks. One of Peter’s hands leaves his shoulders to rub his back. Tom feels the muscles relaxing in response._

_“What’s going on?” Peter’s voice is soft, encouraging._

 

“You’re crushing…” Peter’s voice chokes off. Tom sobbing now, animalistic gasps choking him. With his upper body pressing Peter to the mattress, Tom feels Peter’s heart speed up until it’s almost pounding through the layers of skin and cloth, beating in a wild rhythm against Tom’s chest. Tom’s heart beats back. Even now, their hearts are synchronized.   

 

_Tom shakes his head against Peter’s throat, and feels the pulse pressed against his cheek quicken slightly._

 

_Tom wants to say, “Everything’s okay. I have enough money to start over. With you.”_

_Instead Tom pulls back and kisses Peter lightly on the mouth, his lips catching the small noise Peter makes. He moves away slightly, giving them enough space to breath in this tiny world Tom’s created._

 

_Peter stares, brow furrowed. He stares at Tom as if he were notes Peter could take apart, beat by beat, and discover something wonderful and powerful underneath._

_“Come with me?” Tom pleads softly._

_“Where?”_

_“I don’t care, just come with me.”_

_Peter says nothing but traces Tom’s face with his fingers, cupping his cheek as Tom leans in again._

 

Peter fights him. Dickie was caught off guard, and Freddie was surprised – his face frozen in his smug triumph even after his body had cooled – but Peter fights. 

 

Tom’s proud of him.

 

He wants bruises for this one. He wants his outside to match his insides for once. He wants to be honest.

 

_Peter’s lips part, and his mouth is warm, so warm and soft and wet, against Tom’s. Tom clutches Peter like a drowning man, but Peter’s hands caress him gently, moving under his shirt and splaying out against his back and chest, bracing him on either side._

_Tom jumps as Peter’s hands ghost down his ribs. Peter starts to pull back, probably to ask if Tom’s okay because Peter cares about him, is patient with him, and wants him to stay, but Tom only presses closer._

_“Sorry, ticklish.”_

_“We can –” Peter starts, but Tom doesn’t want to find out what they can do, he just wants to be here, so he kisses Peter again and again._

 

Peter’s hands had gone to the bathrobe belt automatically, trying to release the pressure around his neck, clawing for air.

 

Tom buries his head between Peter’s shoulder blades, his tears and snot soaking Peter’s shirt. In this position, he can feel the exact moment when Peter understands – his body freezing for a split second as he puts the piece together: the nightmares, the loneliness, Marge, the secrets.

 

Tom has finally tossed someone the key.

 

He tightens his grip.

 

_They eventually make it to the bed, but Tom won’t let Peter do that him because it seems too crude for their first time. Peter won’t do what Tom suggests because he doesn’t think Tom is ready for that. So Peter braces himself above Tom and his hands stroke Tom lightly._

 

_Tom feels his heart and breath quicken with Peter’s touches, and he can’t look away from Peter; his lips are wet and parted slightly, his cheeks are flushed, but his eyes are so green. He never noticed before until they were this close, and they watch him with such intensity. And Tom watches back, curious and aroused. He did this. He’s capable of this too._

 

Once Peter realizes he can’t loosen the cloth around his neck, he lashes out at him. Hands beat at Tom’s arms, and fingers pull at his hair, but Tom’s laying full length across Peter’s back now – an ideal position for this kind of action.

 

Peter’s fists can’t quite reach him. They can only slap and claw at the top of Tom’s head and sides; he can’t buck Tom off without increasing the pressure around his neck, and his legs are completely useless.

 

Tom’s untouchable.

 

Out of reach.

 

_“Tom,” Peter whispers against Tom’s lips, and Tom recognizes his name and thinks, ‘Yes.’_

 

Peter’s struggles slow, weaken, then stop all together. His chest no longer moves, his limbs flop to the bed, and his heart slows until the beat is barely there at all. Tom keeps the pressure against his body and neck for a precise minute and a half to make sure. He doesn’t want to do this again, but he will.

 

Peter’s body is still warm when he pulls away.

 

_It’s over quickly, even as the moment seems to stretch out. Peter collapses against Tom, who clutches him so tightly that Peter has difficulty breathing._

_Peter laughs and tries to push Tom away, but Tom pulls him back down for another kiss. He maps Peter’s mouth with his own as he tastes and discovers. A shiver runs down Tom’s spine whenever their tongues touch._

_“So,” Peter says, a bit breathless when finally they part. His eyes are bright and alive. He smiles shyly at Tom. “Where are we going?”_

 

Peter’s lips are blue, and his eyes are bulged; they look terrified. Tom wants to close them for Peter, but he makes himself look, forces himself to burn this image of what he’s done into his mind.

 

Tiny moans hiccup from his chest – at least he’s stopped crying. Soon Dickie Greenleaf will go back to his quarters, wash his face, put on his suit, laugh with Meredith, and perhaps even take her to his bed.

 

Tom Ripley will never leave this room.

 


End file.
